Wait
by IronicNarwhal
Summary: Ron wakes one night to find Harry not in his bed. Harry/Ron. I'm really not sure if I like this one. I kind of cring when I read the last few paragraphs. If you feel like reading, then you might try telling me how to improve my writting for this ship?


A/N: Because I felt like it. lol. That's in response to several of you probably asking the question of, "Why is a (former) Harry/Hermione shipper writing Ron/Harry?" And because I love the ship and I must be loyal to my beloved slash!

So, this is only a one-shot. In about two years I might be able to post a real story, but until then…this is all y'all are getting. Not that I'm not interested in writing a story, because I really am. And if you couldn't realize it from the summery, it's** SLASH.** Specifically Harry/Ron **SLASH**! So don't kill me because your poor mind has been brain washed by seeing two best friends love each other!!

I also have a vague feeling this will be on the OOC side. I didn't exactly know how to write a hurting Harry…

Disclaimer: JKR rocks and I would never steal anything from her. (That might have something to do with the fact that she gets more moneys per book than I'll see my whole life, and could hire a lawyer who would take everything I own.) So, I'm not claiming to own anything. Even the things I do, we'll just pretend I don't.

* * *

The wind of the night brought in a cold draft from the last bit of spring that just seemed to refuse to leave and blew around the room of five beds and four boys. In their unconsciousness, most had no reaction to the change in temperature, aside from Neville flinging his covers messily about his shoulders and snorting through his recently-broken and mended nose.

Whispers could be heard from the wind, though whether they were threats or comfort went unknown. The swinging tides of the atmosphere didn't give any clues, and the only person who was conscious at the moment in the room full of sleepers could detect unease in it. The flame-haired person, too young to be a man, too old to be a boy, sat up and rubbing his tired eyes, bracing his elbows on his knees and angering his funny bone, but not caring as he continued to massage his eyes and temples.

Slowly, Ron slid his curtains apart the smallest bit and glanced out. There had been some sort of continuing party that had carried on the best part of the night and early morning for the last week, and the other boys in his dorm had been active participants. Neville had his curtains drawn, which Seamus and Dean hadn't even managed to pull the covers over themselves properly before falling into bed. He sighed, looking at the only empty bed in the room and slipping back behind his curtains.

He sat and contemplated a plan of action before again leaning out his curtains and picking up his slippers, slipping them on and swinging his feet out of the bed, stumbling over the curtains that trailed to the floor and nearly fell head-first onto Harry's bed. He managed to right himself, however, and came to his trunk, pulling out a pair of jeans and pulling them on over the boxers he'd worn to bed. He then smoothed down his rapidly lengthening hair – all Weasley family members seemed to have unnaturally fast hair growth – and made his slow and sluggish way down the stairs, gripping the railing gently and using it as a guide rather than support to the dark common room.

The room was only lit by the gently sparkling fire, and Ron was for a split-second under the impression that Harry might not have been there. But then he saw slight movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw that the thing the thought to just be a shadow run a dark hand through it's messy hair. Ron sighed in relief. Atleast his friend wouldn't risk breaking curfew by leaving the common room this late.

A glance at the clock told Ron that it was actually extremely early as he made his quiet way towards Harry. He didn't want to startle him, but didn't know how not to do that.

"Hey Mate," Ron murmured. It was so quiet it had the benefit of telling Harry he was under no threat. But he still managed to shock his friend to the slightest degree, as evidenced by the straightening of his back and the twitching of his fingers twitching towards his wand.

"Hey," Harry replied a few seconds later. He'd obviously delayed his response to avoid yelping it at his friend. "Uhm…what're you…uh…doing up?"

"I should be asking you that question," Ron replied, sitting down next to him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Ron patting his friend's back and scooted back, using the sofa to brace himself on. Harry slid back too, and they continued to stare into the fire's depths.

"You left the window open when you came in," Ron murmured. "You've gotta stop doing that, mate. If someone realizes you've been going out…"

Harry sighed. He had no idea Ron knew about his late night broom flights. "I'll remember next time. Sorry."

"Hey," Ron gently admonished. "I might be your prefect but I'm telling you as a friend, 'kay?"

Harry nodded.

"You haven't been sleeping," Ron told him.

"I'm not tired," Harry replied.

"Bullocks, Harry," Ron hissed. "I'm not blind and I've seen the bags under your eyes."

Harry looked over at Ron, scowling a bit. "Why do I suddenly have to tell you everything?"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, shaking his head impatiently. He hated that his own best friend couldn't seem to share his secrets with him.

"Everywhere I go, it's you or Hermione," Harry told him, not raising his voice above a heated hissing but conveying to Ron as much annoyance, anger, and depression as if he'd shouted. "Asking me if I'm okay, or what's wrong. Hermione even cut my chicken for me at dinner last night! I know you care, but it's a little crazy, okay?"

Ro made a mental note to tell Hermione that Harry needed his space in the back of his head, while his sudden need to engage Harry in a argument (and therefore dig himself a deeper hole to jump into) overwhelmed him, and he took hold of Harry's shoulders, shaking him.

"We care, Harry!" Ron nearly yelled. "We followed you into the middle of the Department of Mysteries because of a dream! We fought with you to save the life of someone who ended up dying anyway! And now we're trying so hard to help you through that but you keep pushing us away! Where do you get off asking us to stop caring?!"

"BECAUSE I MIGHT PUT YOU IN DANGER TOO, RON!" Harry yelled. "Every moment you spend with me, in my inner circle, you insert yourself a little further into Voldemort's path! And stop TWITCHING! It's a NAME Ron!"

Ron simply stared at Harry, before grabbing him and roughly pulling him into a hug. He knew his actions would be hard to explain later, but he'd just felt such an _urge_ to tell Harry through his touch that he needn't worry.

What he hadn't been expecting was Harry to start crying. He didn't even realize it until the other teen's tears started soaking his sweater.

"Oh, Merlin Harry," Ron said, panicking slightly. He'd never been good with crying girls, and he suspected he'd be even worse with crying boys. "It's…okay, Mate."

"No," Harry whispered, his voice shivering. "No it's not, Ron. I got you all in so much danger. And…Sirius is…deeeeaaad!"

The long anguished whine was muffled by Ron's neck. "It's j-just not fair! I've already lost so many people…why do I have to loose someone else?"

This sort of self-pity was extremely uncharacteristic of Harry, but Ron didn't hesitate to allow it. Harry never thought of himself, and Ron was rather under the impression it would be a healing experience for him.

"Oh Harry," Ron murmured, one hand in the small of his back, the other on his head as the brunette continued to sob. "Oh Harry…shush…"

Harry seemed to exhaust himself slightly, and by the time his tears were spent, he was breathing shallowly against Ron's neck, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He pulled back, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

Ron shook his head, running a hand down Harry's cheek. He then pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he was being way too forward. Then he saw Harry's head fall onto his shoulder and realized Harry was intending to lean into the touch. His green-eyed friend took his hand back and settled it again on his face.

There was a silence, Ron confused and Harry nearly unconscious before it was broken by Harry's cloudy voice.

"The brains," he murmured, staring at the scars that spanned up and down his arms and angry welts. "They left those?"

Ron nodded.

"Do they hurt?" Harry murmured, gently touching one long stripe of raised, reddened skin.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me some numbing salve to put on it," Ron said. "So not really. It twinges if you press on it really hard, though, so I've had to be careful about sleeping on my side."

Harry nodded. "What happened, with the brains?"

Ron sighed, shrugging. "They just sort of took me over. And now I've sort of got a bunch of memories that aren't mine, and some aren't too pleasant."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Ron replied. "There were a lot of Death Eater's brains in there; one or two of the memories are of killing someone."

Harry's shoulders jumped in a small gasp.

"But some are nice," Ron added. He didn't elaborate, however. And Harry didn't push, which he was grateful for.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry told him. He rubbed his cheek into his hand one last time before kissing it gently and getting up, starring up the stairs. "I'll go close that window."

He left Ron alone, confused with his feelings. He knew that there was something there, something worth pursuing, but neither of them was really ready yet, and Ron was content with what it was.

Things could wait. As long as he had friends, and Harry, whatever he was at the moment, then he was happy. And that was all he could wish for.

* * *

You know, I'm not really sure I like this. It's really not what I expected. Which I know doesn't make sense, as I wrote it, but…I'm just not completely happy with it, yet I can't figure our what's wrong. Could some seasoned author help me out here? Lol. I'm confuuuuuused…

-Lynn


End file.
